Chapter Ten
The pink nightgown had always been the little girl’s favorite. Ruffled short sleeves, soft cotton, with a big bow on the front of it. Her mother told her she was a beautiful princess whenever she wore it, and she had felt that way.
But as the little girl sat in the Tin Man’s den, perched in a black leather chair way too big for her small body, she felt kind of like Cinderella before she went to the ball, the one with the wicked stepmother, except the little girl had a Papa.
She didn’t like the new nightgown he’d given her. It was white and made her skin itchy. She kept scratching... and scratching... and scratching. Ugh. She stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace as it ate up what was left of the pink fabric.
“Why couldn’t I keep it?” she asked quietly, looking to the Tin Man sitting in the identical chair beside her, a small table separating the two of them.
He plucked a glass off of that table, filled almost to the top with a clear liquid. It looked like water, but he grimaced when he drank it, which told the little girl it might’ve been something different.
“It stunk,” he said, his voice lazy, words slurring. He slouched, long legs spread out, his knee constantly moving.
“You couldn’t clean it?” she asked.
He took another drink before casting a flat look her way, no humor in his watery, bloodshot eyes. “It stunk like your mother.”
The little girl still didn’t understand. Her mother always smelled so pretty.
“But if we washed it—”
“Enough!” His voice was sharp as he slammed the glass down on the table, spilling some out, sloshing it onto his skin. He shook his hand angrily, a sprinkle splashing the little girl as he waved toward the fire. “It is gone, kitten. Ash. You cannot have it back. It is not worth your tears and neither is she, so stop crying. Do you hear me? Stop crying!”
She wasn’t crying, not right then, but as he screamed those words, tears streamed down his cheeks. Picking up the glass again, he hauled his arm back, flinging it across the room, shattering it in the fireplace.
The little girl tried to slink away as the flames roared. The Tin Man ran his hands down his face, wiping away his tears. Growling, he stood, his hands clenched. In a rage, he beat himself in the chest with his fist as he snarled, “Stop this, right now! Stop it!”
She whimpered, his anger scaring her, the sound drawing his attention. The Tin Man turned her way, flexing his fingers. “Go to your room. I cannot deal with you... not while I am still grieving her.”
The little girl got up, running from the room, wanting out of his sight before her own tears started to fall. As soon as she was in the hallway, she heard him scream, just like she’d heard that night a week ago. Except, he was alone now. Her mother wasn’t there for him to turn his anger into pain.
Her mother was gone.
But where?